The Lesson
by Xirysa
Summary: In honor of July 14... Oscar has asked André to do her a favor... Preteen/teenage years friendship.


Xirysa Says: Well, it's July 14th

**Xirysa Says:** Well, it's July 14th... Bastille Day. The day of Lady Oscar's death (well, not really. But if it happened, it would be 219 years ago. I checked.). But do not be sad, my friends, for the tale of the Lady Oscar and her lover, André. Yes, I'm proud to admit that I've been feeling rather mushy lately, so I decided to do something happy. Not tragic, even though I find myself liking tragedies more and more. So... Erm.. Yes. Dancing. Wait, dancing? Well, as some of you probably know, I am a dancer. It seemed inevitable that I would write a 'fic dedicated to this wonderful art form. How old are they in this? Erm... Maybe between twelve and thirteen years of age? o.O Not too sure. Oh, this was inspired by and dedicated to the lovely **Kitten Kisses**, since she is the one who introduced me to the amazingness of this fandom. So, love, happy Oscar Day!

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The Lesson

"You want me to do _what_, exactly?" He stares at the girl in front of him, not believing what he has just heard.

"You heard correctly." She nods, and he is quite sure that his mouth has dropped open. "Teach me how to dance, André." He is too distraught by her sudden request to notice the slight blush tinting her cheeks and the way her fingers nervously pick at an invisible string at the end of her sleeve.

After a few awkward moments of silence pass between the two, it becomes clear to him that she will not take no for an answer. Leaning against the tree trunk behind them, he puts his hands behind his head and sighs. "Fine, but I hope you know what you're getting into. I'm... Not exactly the best teacher. Or dancer."

Her clear blue eyes brighten and she smiles. "Thank you." She suddenly pokes him in the shoulder, reminding him once again that she is really quite strong for a girl. "Now let's get these lessons started."

Bringing his arms down, he steps out from under the shade of the tree and points to a spot in the grass in front of him. "Alright, Oscar. Stand there." She nods her head and complies. "Now, put one hand on my shoulder, and place your other hand in mine." Again, she does as she is asked.

Now comes the part he has been dreading. Knowing fully well that he could end up with a bloody nose or worse, he braces himself and places a hand on her waist. Her eyes widen.

She gasps and her eyes narrow as she pulls her hands from him. "André!" He can't help but smile when he feels the sharp slap of her palm on the side of his head—he'd forgotten how hard she could hit when provoked. Eyes watering slightly, he looks down at her. Although he is at least half a head taller than her, she is tall for her age and twice as strong. Blinking back the tears in his emerald eyes, he sighs.

"I'm sorry, Oscar. But you _did_ want to learn how to dance, and I was the only one you said you could ask to teach you." He pauses and bites his bottom lip in confusion. "Hang on a moment… You never said why you wanted to learn. You already know how to dance like a man, but—" Her fist comes in contact with his cheek and he suddenly finds himself on his backside.

"Damn it, André! I'm a _girl_! Perhaps that is why I asked you?" She crosses her arms across her chest and glares at him, a steady stream of expletives escaping her mouth. He stands up and fixes his now disheveled ponytail.

Brushing off the grass that has accumulated on his shirt and pants, he realizes that she is right. She _is _a girl. "Alright, Oscar. I'm sorry. Can we start over?" He extends his hand towards her and grins at her when she accepts.

She gives him that small half-smile of hers. "Alright."

They resume their positions underneath the tree. He puts his hand on her waist and is pleased to note that though she flinches, she doesn't pull away. Or hit him.

He leans down and whispers in her ear. "Ready to dance?" She nods once, and he can't help but thank God that they are in such a secluded location once they begin to move to their own silent rhythm. What would his grandmother say if she saw them in such a position?

However, he cannot focus on his grandmother for long. He is dancing with his master, fencing partner, and best friend. His best friend…

They glide and spin and twirl across the grass for who knows how long. By the time they are done, the sun is already sinking below the horizon. Her face is merely inches away from his. He never realized how beautiful she is, even though she is only twelve years old. He opens his mouth.

"You're standing on my feet, Oscar."

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**Xirysa Says:** Wow... What an odd ending... Stupid summer school work made me put this off until the very last minute. Asdsfjhdgdfgd insert expletive here I really wanted to put this up today (in honor of Bastille Day), so some parts are rushed... It was kind of hard to write, actually, since it's nothing like my angst-ridden usual stuff. But I love comedy, so I interjected some here and there. And here is a request for you readers... EXPAND THE FANDOM, PEOPLE. Constructive criticism as usual, please!


End file.
